


my sacrifice (and yours)

by winluvr



Series: THIS IS OUR NEW RELIGION. [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Character Study, Demon x Priest AU, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, M/M, Miya Atsumu is a hot priest, Mutual Pining, tender romance between a priest and a demon but make it sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26948887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winluvr/pseuds/winluvr
Summary: It’s almost an act of resignation, as though he had just confessed to wanting the demon in front of him to make its presence known, asking him to stay. Letting him know that he wants to let the demon linger around him still.His gaze is the catalyst for the priest's ruinification.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Kita Shinsuke
Series: THIS IS OUR NEW RELIGION. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966375
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	my sacrifice (and yours)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. demon-priest atsukita concept is from saelove_0604 on twitter :) all credits to them  
> 2\. this was supposed to be part of a full-length 10k fic but i couldn't get some of the scenes done... so i will split it up into three or more fics  
> 3\. quote was copy-pasted directly from a twitter thread to my notes to my gdocs so if the source or translation is incorrect, do tell me :)

**“AND IF THE DEVIL WAS TO EVER SEE YOU, HE'D KISS YOUR EYES AND REPENT.” — FARUOQ JWAYDEH**

Shinsuke visits him again in the night, just when Atsumu has peeled away the chasuble. The priest could barely see the demon’s beautiful face in the pale orange glow of the room, his face only half-illuminated, his overgrown bangs hanging over his forehead in partial shadow. He looks like he had taken a dip in the moonlight, his hair glowing a silky silver in the priest’s eyes, the skin of his shoulders and chest looking like a dream. “What—” Atsumu nearly forgets to whisper, but Shinsuke shushes him in time. “What are you doing here?” He moves to cover his bare skin, but the demon is quicker.

“I’ve come to visit you, my darling.” Shinsuke glows brighter and brighter with every passing second, the skin that peeks out of his unbuttoned shirt twinkling like diamonds. Since the day he passed away and was reborn, he has been wearing less and less modest clothing. His old meekness exchanged for sly looks and coy smiles. Cheeky, even. The demon has never been too much into scanty clothing, but there was no denying of how recklessly, indulgently beautiful he looked in Atsumu’s old dress shirt that he had stolen from his dresser, the hem hanging down his thighs, turning him into marble.

Something in Atsumu’s stomach rises as he looks at him, a nearly indistinguishable, unrecognizable weight pulling on his chest. The demon looks like half of his nightly dreams and more, looks like a boy he would have loved all his life if only he hadn’t succumbed to death five years ago. “I asked you just an hour ago when you’d like to make love to me,” he says, using entirely different words, using descriptions that are several worlds away from what he had said in the parish.

Atsumu swallows down the strange feeling of his stomach churning beneath his cassock, fingers tugging away at the buttons. Shinsuke’s moving so fast, gliding towards him to strip away the stole wound around his neck, unfasten the amice that covers the cold skin of his neck and shoulders. He guides Atsumu’s fingers toward the alb until he’s bare. Stripped for the whole world to see. Stripped for him to see.

The demon’s whispering in his ear, sending him to insanity with his words. “Sanctify me, Father,” he murmurs, “so that you may hold me long enough that your embrace turns my body into an instrument of your love.”  _ Your love. _ The words ring true in Atsumu’s ears. He knows better than to love a creature so despicable, a creature so infernal. He’s meant to find someone,  _ something _ like him ugly, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away from him. He couldn’t find him less beautiful.

Maybe it’s a brief moment of insanity. Something fleeting, he thinks, maybe it’s something that would pass in a few days. All he has to do, after all, is confess his sins to the Lord and offer prayers of contrition. Kneel down to profess his regret, ask for an hour of mercy. All of those years in the seminary had prepared him for this. He begins praying now, his hand rising to his temple, but Shinsuke’s pulling it away, pressing his lips to his knuckles, kissing his fingertips, ever so slightly.

Atsumu wants to tug his hand away from his mouth, clasp his hands together so the demon wouldn’t be able to grant himself access to his body. But the demon is a far greater being than Atsumu could ever be in his whole life. Shinsuke has managed to strip him bare from his vestments, a candle lit for the soft orange atmosphere illuminating their bodies. A step closer to the demon and their bodies would touch. His hands tremble at this thought but he lets him step closer.

Closer and closer, until their mouths meet in the middle. His hands move to cup the demon’s face, no longer fighting to shove his advances away, shrug his touch away. After all, he has not been touched for so long. Demons know so well how to please human boys like him, their small touches, even the softest of their caresses, had been declared as an echo of their love. Shinsuke touches him and he can hear the whole world echo in his ears, ringing with reverbations of his love.

Desire would have been a better word for it, but their mutual consumption had to be fuelled with something other than just human lust. A sin of concupiscence like this, the priest tries to convince himself, must involve love. Their sin of lust must be fuelled by the demon’s wanting for him. It isn’t the glory that would be derived from the pleasure that drives him. He would remember those hands anywhere he goes. He would know that mouth everywhere it presses against his body. He would recall all of his little details like he is reading braille. 

All of Shinsuke’s little touches feel like a declaration of love. His hands swarm around the lines of his body like golden-lit moths flocking around a flickering flame, then retreating in the face of danger. “Show me where your love lies, Father,” he murmurs, the straight line of teeth tugging against his ear. “Go ahead and tell me you want your Lord’s embrace more.” His words laced with the threat,  _ Go ahead and convince me. _

For desire, plain and simple, bitter yet sweet, would not have touched him like love would. Desire would not have kissed a priest driven to temptation like this, his hands roaming down the sides of his body like they are scouring for gold. If it had been desire still, it would not have him writhing in their arms, his back pressed flush against the futon as he turns off the lamp and lets his face be illuminated by the sheet of stars.

“Touch me, Father.” Shinsuke arches his back when Atsumu finally wraps his fingers around his hips, pulling him closer. Closer and closer still, the demon’s weight spilling on top of him as the priest kneads the softness of his waist, carves all of the rigid areas of his body into his memory. As though his memory could serve him his whole life, as though he knows he could never forget a moment like this. He knows all too well that he’s not strong enough to forget anything about it.

“Touch me all day, want me all night.” Shinsuke reaches up to tug his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, curling around it as he lifts his hips. “Darling, I want ya to make my body become a witness of your love.”  _ Lord,  _ the priest thinks,  _ have mercy.  _ A man could only do so much to bid away a demon in need.

Shinsuke flops back unto the futon mere moments after the priest finished inside him with one last thrust, the phantom weight of his body echoing against the bed but never leaving a mark against his sheets. His body never leaves an indent on the mattress when he leaves, but Atsumu can’t help but miss the demon the moment he turns his back toward him.

Atsumu’s heart clenches once the demon gets too close and yet— and yet, when he’s straying too far away, threatening to disappear into the night, a certain unfamiliar form of guilt swells in the back of his throat. Something dreadfully similar to dread creeps up his neck, sliding down his neck. All of it occurs in such swift motions that the priest never knows how things end. The demon moves quick, the legs that had been sprawled over the priest’s lap now turned into a tail that had curled around itself, the warm hands that had been all over the priest’s body replaced with the coldness of his absence.

Atsumu knows better than to think too much into the whole situation. After all, maybe this is just a moment of weakness for the two of them like any other day they spend within the four corners of his room, enthralled with the feeling of each other, intoxicated by the thought of them holding their bodies in mutual ceremony. The priest knows better than to miss the demon that haunts his nightly dreams and comes back in the day only to tease him with his darkened eyes, parted mouth.

And yet— and yet, the priest knows that he would miss the demon in his absence just like any other day. The priest has never been too sappy. There’s no need for memories, after all. Memories turn cloying after a while. Memories could turn into something to look back on and want to forget, tucked in the pockets of the yellowed pages of an old book. So, when he switches on the light and the whole world shines on the constellation of freckles across his back, he never tells him,  _ goodbye.  _ Goodbyes are too permanent, making time seem like something fleeting. Only  _ give me a warning next time.  _

But next time seems permanent too, a sense of obligation uprooted in Atsumu’s bones once he let out the words in a moment where his mind had turned hazy. “At least give me a warning next time so I can clean up the room,” he had told the demon then. It’s almost an act of resignation, as though he had just confessed to wanting the demon in front of him to make its presence known, asking him to stay. Letting him know that he wants to let the demon linger around him still.

Shinsuke looks like a long lost dream when he steps away from him, peeling the dress shirt from his body once it has gotten damp with sweat, fingers moving in synchronization to unfasten his buttons. He slips on a pair of velvet pajamas then, a red two-piece ensemble with white piping that would make him look somewhat more modest than his other pieces of clothing. It had been brought over into the afterlife, having been his favorite clothes in the days he was still alive. His obaa-san had requested to let him be buried with it placed beside him in the casket. She had been devastated, having been left in his wake, but Shinsuke made sure to watch over her, caressing her rickety wrists, tending to the fields on her off days in secret, raising the aigamo ducks on his own.

That night, the priest weeps into his hands, palms shoved in front of his face to muffle his sobs, his body trembling from the coldness of the demon's absence. There is no denying that without the demon lying beside him, he feels  _ lonely. _ As though he hasn’t been held like that for so long. As though it has been so many years since he was touched like that. As though it has been so long since someone had looked at him the way the demon looks at him. The priest feels disgusted, horrified at the sins they had allowed themselves to commit, but when the demon looks at him like that, everything seems reasonable. His gaze is the catalyst for the priest's instant ruinification.

The demon puts the priest under a probe lens for the whole world to see, peers into the microscope for a glance of what he’s made of. To see is to understand, to see is to crave. He knows, he understands that the priest is a lonely being, that the priest would do anything to be under the demon’s unholy touch even just once more. And so he visits him every night, touching him all over until the moon dips into the horizon, his long fingers roaming all over his sides under the back light. A boy, a man turned into an object of consumption for him.

The demon knows that the Lord would be watching over his beloved priest even as he sleeps. His obaa-san had always told him about how someone is always watching the people of their land, but he has never been too dependent on their belief that their fate would be guided by their faith. After all, what would be the point of believing in anything when the world could be so easily swayed by the hands of just one man, taken into the gravitational pull of just one planet’s orbit?  _ Now let the Lord forever reign and govern us as he will,  _ the priest had once said. The demon knows it’s more than faith that acknowledges them, bringing them together.

On the priest’s off days, the demon shall take care of him as well, tending to him like a servant to his king. He shall press unto his forehead the softest of kisses to smoothen out the creases that mar his skin. He shall run his fingers through the yellowed pages of the holy book and close it once he falls asleep, marking the page he had been poring over all night with the ribbon bookmark. He shall rake his fingers through the course of the priest’s blonde hair, visible to him but invisible to everyone else that is watching. He shall love the priest in secret, for that is all there is meant for them.


End file.
